


About Time

by last_illusions (injured_eternity)



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-18
Updated: 2008-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injured_eternity/pseuds/last_illusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I will keep worrying about you until I die of old age, assuming I live that long!" Mac/Stella post-ep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About Time

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: References the events of my [_Relics & Memories_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/175352) piece; reading it might help you, but you can probably get the gist of what happened without it.
> 
> Spoilers: 5x07 [“Dead Inside”]; 2x23 [“Heroes”]

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stella Bonasera almost jumped out of her seat when her boss slammed into her office, and she stared at him in shock: Mac Taylor didn’t make a habit of nearly ripping her door off its hinges, nor did he generally favour making a scene in the labs.

“Mac?”

“Danny told me you’ve been getting threats!” he halfway yelled at her, and she was suddenly grateful her office wasn’t at the forefront of the labs the way his was. “ _Why_ didn't you tell me he’s still coming after you?”

“Mac, I—”

“Did it not occur to you this is information I should know?”

Growing increasingly irritated with both his tone and his manner, she rose so she was at least roughly at eye level with him and met him stare for stare. She opened her mouth to retort, then promptly snapped it shut again as Aiden’s name floated to the forefront of her mind. Aiden Burn had been the last NYPD detective under Mac’s command to become a target, and he had not taken her death well. It had been three years, and they had been lucky in that none of them had been in focussed danger of that sort; in context, Stella couldn’t help wondering if it still nagged at him. It would certainly offer a better explanation for Mac’s overprotectiveness—both at the moment and the week before.

“I didn’t tell you because I haven’t had a chance,” she answered finally. “Danny was _with_ me when both threats came in; that’s why he knew.”

“You saw me earlier, Stella! If that was a bad time, you couldn’t pick up the phone and call me?”

The… was it hurt? she saw in his eyes threw her for a minute, but she didn’t know what to make of it, so rather than open up a can of worms she wasn’t sure either of them were prepared to deal with, she plowed on.

“And do what?” she pointed out. “I have no right to—to expect you to drop everything and come to me!”

“You have _every_ right, Stella!” he exclaimed in frustration, stopping her argument in its tracks.

In the silence that followed, she froze, eyes locked with his, and he heaved a sigh, sinking into one of the chairs in front of her desk and suddenly very interested in the carpeting. Slowly, she sat back down, and then he looked up again—this time the hurt was readily apparent, and she regretted causing it, even though she didn’t know for certain she had.

“Did you think I kissed you the other night on… on a whim?”

The question was so soft she had to strain to hear it, and she flinched.

“Mac, I… this week’s been hell. Last night was the first time any of us left the _labs_. I… we never had a chance to… to figure this out, and I… I thought…”

She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought without shoving her foot in her mouth, because even to her ears it sounded idiotic when spoken aloud. They’d been enmeshed in case after case, everybody pulling triple, quadruple shifts and catching five-minute catnaps in the break room whenever they had a chance. The lab as a whole had probably consumed enough coffee to match the Great Lakes in volume, and as a result, the two of them had had no chance to do more than be coworkers, since they’d never left the office.

Mac broke into her thoughts, asking softly, “You thought I regretted it?”

Shrugging slightly, she refused to meet his gaze, focussing instead on her keyboard, her computer screen, her coffee cup—anything but him.

“Stella, look at me.” Slowly, she did, unable to resist the low timbre of his voice that no coworker in his right mind would ever use. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make time this week—hell, I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. I could never regret you,” he continued gently, then hesitated. “Do _you_ regret it?”

She shook her head quickly. “Never, Mac, I just… I didn’t want that to turn into a mistake.”

“It wasn’t one,” he reassured her emphatically, then offered her a tentative smile. “Shall we pick a better time and try to start over?"

Hesitation of her own; then, “How about we just continue where we left off?”

The smile became a grin, and he nodded. “Deal.” He stood then, saying, “I was originally going to tell you the chief is pretty much kicking everyone out of the building—says we’re racking up too much overtime.” Stella laughed, and he continued, “You’re going to disagree, but you should be staying with someone until we can figure this out.” He held up a hand, staying her protests. “For precautionary reasons, Stel—I know you can take care of yourself, but another set of eyes never hurt, and most criminals don't have diplomatic immunity. This guy is gunning for you and thinks he can get away with anything. I, for one, am not willing to give him a chance. You can stay with me if you like, or with someone else on the team, or I’ll put together a protection detail, but I don’t want to make it easy for this guy—for all we know he’s put a tail on you.”

She regarded him for a long moment, then said finally, “You worry too much.”

“Says the pot to the kettle,” he shot back with a grin. “And I will continue to worry about you until I drop dead of old age, assuming I live that long.”

“How… flattering,” she teased, then stood, stretching her arms over her head. “I… I guess I'll stay with you?”

“Don’t sound so happy,” he muttered, and she grinned, pulling her coat off the rack.

“You mind?”

“You staying with me? Of course not.”

He took the coat from her, holding it up for her to slip into it, and she nodded at him as she reached for her bag.

“So,” he said as she straightened, “about that continuation—may I take you to dinner as compensation for having to put up with my hovering?”

A slow smile spread across her face—for the moment, at least, she could forget that there was a diplomat who wanted her head on a platter and a dead rat in a box in the DNA lab—and she nodded again. “Of course.” A tape recorder would have been handy, too, for that matter; Mac Taylor would probably never admit to hovering again.

She walked with him to his office so he could close up and grab his things, leaning against the doorjamb and trying to look casual. It wasn’t too rare an occurrence that they’d go to grab a bite to eat—it wasn’t uncommon to go with whoever you happened to be working with, for that matter—so they could play this off. She’d ask him about Aiden later if the opportunity presented itself, and she’d go in early the next day to finish the remainder of the processing that had to wait for the overnight runs to finish. For now, though, she’d let herself enjoy Mac’s company and try to get them both to stop thinking about work.

As they left the labs, Hawkes and Danny came around the corner, coats in hand. Danny’s expression turned pensive, and he glanced at the former ME.

“Y’know, I keep seein’ those two together lately. Y’ don’ think…” He trailed off, glanced again at Hawkes, and shook his head. “Nah.”

Sheldon Hawkes, with his sometimes frightening acuity, remained noncommittal, but when Danny wasn’t looking, he just smiled, mentally applauding his friends. Regulations or no regulations, it was about damn time.

  
 _Finis._

 _Feedback is always appreciated._


End file.
